


The Night Before Dickmas

by TheRecorder



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Frottage, Grantaire's Big Penis, Humor, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRecorder/pseuds/TheRecorder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras could not stop thinking about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Before Dickmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the kink meme that wanted Enjolras to see Grantaire's huge penis and then go to him all 'oh mister R'; cleaned up from my journal post.

**The Night Before Dickmas**

-

Of all the things Enjolras had done in the name of friendship, this was the lowest; if in no other way than temperature-wise.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat in an attempt to warm them. The breeze blowing off the pond before him chilled the air and made him shift from foot to foot to keep his blood moving.

The snows had passed, but the water was still cold from the winter and Enjolras questioned the idea behind this whole ordeal. Did he really have to be here for this?

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac declared cheerily, cheeks blushed with cold above his scarf, “You have made a solemn oath and now you are called upon to keep it!”

Grantaire, standing at the opposite side of the pond, placed his hand dramatically at his heart, “My honor commands it, so I must obey!”

He was clad only in a dressing gown, procured by Jehan from unknown sources. Even from where he stood with his friends Enjolras could tell Grantaire was shivering.

Apparently Grantaire had lost a bet or a gamble of some kind. The punishment was the design of Bahorel, but the requirement of witnesses had been entirely Courfeyrac. He had insisted they needed to leave the stuffy interior of the Café for once and breathe a little.

Though the day was bright, the sun was behind clouds and Enjolras thought he would much prefer to breathe the air only once it was properly springtime.

The breeze picked up briefly, forcing them to draw their coats and scarves closer and for several to laugh as Grantaire let out a wail of complaint.

“If you are prepared,” Courfeyrac continued, “then discard your vestment and plunge yourself into the waters of duty!”

“As I am commanded, so I perform!” Grantaire called back.

At least he was conceding the defeat with good humor. Enjolras was not sure who was having more fun with the whole thing; Courfeyrac or Grantaire.

Grantaire walked backwards several steps and flung off the dressing gown. His friends gave a roar of encouragement and he raised his hands above his head in the imitation of a ballerina. With a few leaps, he reached the water’s edge and plunged in amidst the jubilant cheers of his spectators.

Grantaire emerged about halfway across the pond and half-swam, half-trudged over to their side.

“My debt has been absolved!” he declared as he walked out, his hair hanging down in front of his eyes, dripping.

Bahorel laughed and clapped him on the back, “Indeed it has.”

Feuilly came over with a blanket, another commodity that was more likely absconded than asked for, and draped it over Grantaire’s shoulders. He gratefully drew it around him, tremors already running down his body.

“Now where are my trousers?” he demanded, “At this rate, my balls will never come back out!” he pitched his voice high, “I’ll be singing castrato for the rest of my life!”

Jehan handed over the trousers he had draped over his arm and Grantaire pulled them on quickly. He handed Feuilly his blanket briefly to take the shirt Jehan had brought as well. It was as he pulled the blanket back around him that he noticed Enjolras had yet to say a word.

“Enjolras, I thought I glimpsed your golden locks across the way. Are you too speechless at such frivolity to even scold?”

Enjolras, who was glaring at the pond with a determination usually reserved for matters of revolution, turned to him grudgingly. The chill of the wind and cold had reddened his face, lessening the force of his scowl.

“I suppose I am. Let us return to the Café, if only so that Grantaire need not worry for the state of his singing voice.”

-

They drank and talked. Tonight was not a night for planning, it was for relaxing. Grantaire was cheerfully bemoaning of his ordeal and Bossuet was explaining to Feuilly the nature of his latest accident and asking advice on how to best fix a broken bed stand. Bahorel and Jehan were attempting to combine the soul of a poem with cadence of a drinking song and were making more progress than really should have been possible. Combeferre was consumed in an essay that was due the next day and Enjolras understood the plight of the last-minute assignment. Too often more important things pushed schoolwork to the side.

However, with everyone else participating in their own conversations and pursuits, Enjolras was left with his thoughts.

And, oh, what thoughts were these.

Medically, a penis was supposed to shrink in that kind of cold. Of this Enjolras was certain as he had been in the same cold not ten minutes ago. Perhaps not much, but certainly not grow! Grantaire, however!

Surely Enjolras had merely been mistaken. No man could swim through such frigid waters and still emerge so…extensive.

Extensive? _Really?_ He was being ridiculous. And yet, he could not help but glance over furtively to where Grantaire was regaling his audience with a lengthy description of the cold water. His hair was still damp and curling before his eyes and the bottle on the table was farther from his hand than normal. Enjolras drew his eye to the man’s crotch and then quickly looked away.

He had not been mistaken! How had he missed such an obvious part –feature! Obvious feature of Grantaire? Granted, Enjolras did not make a habit at looking at anyone’s groin, but now he knew there was a definite reason for Grantaire’s improper sitting posture. There was little room for anything but slouching and splaying his legs.

Enjolras shook his head. He had no reason to be thinking on such things anyways. What did it matter to him if the drunkard was exceedingly well-endowed? He had never been one to care about such trivial measures of manhood as comparing penis sizes.

He knew that was not why he cared though. He tried to push it from his mind, but it only came back stronger. He was curious.

No, not curious. _Interested_.

Warmth seeped across his cheeks. He was _interested_ in Grantaire’s _penis_. Enjolras slid his fingers absentmindedly down his thigh before he realized what he was doing and quickly laid his hand on the table. He wanted to see it again, if only to confirm what he had seen was true. He wanted to touch.

No. No touching. No seeing either. This was Grantaire’s dick, for God’s sake, he should not even be thinking about it! But it was just so difficult to ignore now that he knew.

He found his eyes sliding back to Grantaire. With a jolt, he shook his head. He needed to get out of here. Clearly the ‘fresh air’ had gotten to him and he had gone a little bit insane. Nothing a good night’s sleep could not clear up.

Enjolras stood and put on his coat.

“Leaving already?” Combeferre asked, looking up.

“Yes, I need to read over some sources for a paper.”

“Very well, good luck.” Combeferre looked back at his own paper and grimaced as he marked out an entire line.

“I should say the same to you.”

“Enjolras, where are you going?” Courfeyrac called over.

“Home,” he replied.

“Nonsense!” Courfeyrac came over and grabbed Enjolras, steering him back to the table where he had been sitting with Joly listening to Grantaire exposit on the terrors of the waist-deep pond. He sat Enjolras down across from Grantaire and took up the chair next to him.

“I have things to do, Courfeyrac.”

“I don’t believe you,” Courfeyrac told him cheerfully and turned to Joly, “You were saying?”

“Only that I am surprised that Grantaire doesn’t have at least a cold,” Joly looked Grantaire over in amusement, “By all rights you should have pneumonia.”

Grantaire smiled easily and spread his arms.

“Not that easy to get rid of me,” Grantaire’s hand found the bottle in the middle of the table and took a gulp, “Enjolras knows.”

“What?” Enjolras was not expecting to be addressed by Grantaire. Though for why not, he really had no reason. Perhaps it was part of having secret thoughts about someone: you don’t expect to be confronted by the person.

“You have been trying to get rid of me ever since I came here,” Grantaire elaborated. He did not seem bitter, only matter-of-fact.

He was not sure why he said it, but Enjolras shot back, “If I was trying to get rid of you, you would be gone.”

The half-smile dropped off Grantaire’s face in surprise only to be replaced with a wide grin, “Ah, Enjolras, I had not dared to believe it, but I cannot doubt my own ears. You _tolerate_ me! I am so pleased.”

Somehow irritated at that response and honestly having no reply, Enjolras stood, “I really do have things to do. Goodbye all.”

He hurried out before Courfeyrac could seize his coattail or grab his arm, but still caught Grantaire remarking as he left, “Perhaps he doesn’t tolerate me that much though.”

Outside, the breeze had picked up and it was a brisk walk back to his flat.

He tried to put the events of the day from his mind, but the singularity of them prevented this. The bet, the pond, the chill, Grantaire’s enormous penis.

Damn it all.

Another traitorous thought entered his head, one that had him breaking out in a blush that had nothing to do with the wind in his face.

If it had been that large after being immersed in frigid water, how big did it get in the opposite circumstance?

Enjolras fumbled his key at the thought of Grantaire aroused. Curse his passionate mind that filled in the picture he did not want. The image of Grantaire, lying back, panting and hard and smirking took root in his mind and would not be dislodged.

He scrambled into his flat and leaned against the door. In his mind, Grantaire’s dick was huge, arching up to his abdomen and impossibly wide.

Enjolras swallowed and looked down at his own groin. To his mortification, he was not entirely flaccid and there was subtle bulge pressing at the front of his trousers.

This was ridiculous. Enjolras took a deep breath and strode over to his bed, shedding his coat.

He sat down. His mind was taking things too far.

But, just for comparison…

Enjolras’s trousers were pushed down and his dick bared before he could really think about it.

He did not really think it was small, it was just not Grantaire’s size. Right. He just had to see how much bigger it got when hard. And then struggle not to apply that information to his image of Grantaire’s prick because he was not thinking about that anymore.

He put thoughts of knowing very well what his own cock looked like hard out of his mind. As long as he justified this as an experiment, he was not about to have a wank over Grantaire’s penis.

Enjolras closed his eyes and moved his hand over himself and tried to summon up vaguely sexual images that did nothing to drown out the thought of Grantaire standing on the edge of the pond, dripping and grinning, and of course his impossibly sized cock tucked between his legs.

Enjolras did not usually get this hard this quickly. He looked down. It was bigger than flaccid, obviously, maybe thicker, maybe longer.

But there was only so far it could go, of course. Enjolras edited his mental image to have Grantaire with only a slightly bigger straining cock, fully erect and touching his abdomen, wet and –

Enjolras forcibly removed the image from his mind. He refused to think about it. This was all an experiment after all, objective and clinical.

Enjolras closed his fist around his prick and thrust desperately.

This was a problem.

-

The next night, there was no meeting. Courfeyrac and others had made plans and Enjolras only went to the Musain out of habit.

When he opened the door to the back room, he almost walked right back out when he saw the sole other occupant.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire quickly stuffed a paper into his waistcoat and snatched at the bottle on the far side of the table. His fingers missed and he glanced at Enjolras, letting his hand drop.

Curiosity, as it had been wont to do as of late, got the better of Enjolras. He sat down across from Grantaire, who looked genuinely shocked.

“What is that?” Enjolras settled his bag down beside him. He had planned to get some work done and the flat next to his was being particularly noisy today.

“What was what?” Grantaire reached out and took the bottle that sat in front of Enjolras.

“That paper you were working on.”

“I wasn’t working on anything.”

Enjolras’s eye fell to the inkwell and pen sitting on the table. Grantaire sighed and set his bottle down.

“It is a sketch,” he admitted, “It helps to be here, in this room.”

“Why is that?”

Grantaire nodded towards Enjolras’s bag, “Why did you come here? It reminds you of the others, of their energy and zeal. Reminds you what you are fighting for.”

“And this room reminds you of what you are drawing? Can I see?”

Grantaire’s hand closed around the bottle, “No. I don’t imagine you would like it. It doesn’t have anything to do with, well. It doesn’t further the cause, drawing.”

“Delacroix did it.”

Grantaire laughed, “But I haven’t. Won’t. Can’t.”

“Do you not believe you could speak with your art?” Enjolras asked. Was he actually having a real conversation with Grantaire for once?

“I do not believe in anything, you know,” Grantaire said quietly, contemplating his wine.

That was not what he has said before. Enjolras told himself he was not hurt.

“You have lost faith in me already?” he said with forced lightness.

“Ah,” Grantaire fiddled with the bottle and took a quick sip.

He glanced over at Enjolras, “To be honest, I thought at this point you were the understood exception.”

“If I asked you to draw for the revolution, for a pamphlet, would you?”

“Yes,” Grantaire said instantly, “but I am afraid even a layman can tell when an artist is lying. It will feel wrong. Not to worry; I am resigned to my uselessness.”

“No man is useless.” Why he said it, Enjolras did not know. It was true, but somehow he wanted Grantaire to accept it for his own sake.

It did not go that way.

Grantaire’s expression darkened, and he retorted, “This man is. Or do you so easily forget your own words?”

Had he really said such a thing? Enjolras realized he could easily believe he had.

“I was wrong. And likely frustrated.”

“Enjolras wrong?” Grantaire declared, “No, surely not. I hallucinate. Perhaps there is more in my bottle than wine.”

Enjolras’s hands curled, “You are not just a cynic.”

Grantaire stiffened and looked past Enjolras, “No, I am also a drunk.”

“Grantaire.”

“Though I’m told I am a tender lover, too,” he smirked, attempting to divert Enjolras’s attention to irritation at his flippancy.

And abruptly, the thoughts Enjolras had almost successfully banished from his mind came flooding back.

The blush must have been noticeable because Grantaire laughed, “Really? Are you so virginal that you blush at that? No, you hear worse talk all the time. Perhaps it is not a blush of modesty that colors you cheeks but a blush of mounting rage?”

Mounting was not a word Enjolras was expecting and it proceeded to fill him with images on the very extreme of impropriety.

“Ah, yes, it just got worse. You really must get a handle on yourself, Enjolras.”

Enjolras quickly stifled the thought that he had ‘handled’ himself pretty climatically last night.

“I need to go,” he said hastily, grabbing his bag.

He was out of his chair and getting ready to leave when Grantaire said, “I suppose my use is to irritate you.”

Enjolras turned back, “No.”

“You left like this yesterday,” Grantaire pointed out.

“It is not because you irritate me,” Enjolras said.

“Then why?”

Enjolras left without replying.

-

Thank God Grantaire had not asked to be of use.

Imagining him saying the words was bad enough.

It was a penis, for God’s sake.  A large, fascinating penis.

One he could not stop thinking of. Enjolras felt not just unsettled and embarrassed, but ashamed for the thoughts now. Grantaire had depths Enjolras has never seen and reducing him to a singular physical part was a disrespect that no one deserved.

He could not stop though.

When had these thoughts escalated? Before it was flashes of images, vivid pictures in his mind. Now, they were what could only be called scenes, _fantasies_.

He was fantasizing about _Grantaire._

What had been on that paper, to have been drawn from the backroom? Not revolution, but…friendship?

The men he saw nearly every day, laughing and singing and smiling. Perhaps he was not so different from Grantaire. The Les Amis kept him strong, renewed his purpose every day. What if that life is what kept Grantaire going as well?

What if Enjolras kept him going too?

Enjolras felt a blush creep up his cheeks. He knew Grantaire had feelings for him, of awe and respect and regard.

But what if he had more than that? What if he went home and took hand to cock at the thought of Enjolras, just like Enjolras had done for him last night.

He glanced down and noticed his hand stroking the inside of his thigh. What he no doubt was going to do tonight as well.

Now was not a good time to remember Grantaire had once said he would do anything for him.

Would he let him look? Would he let him touch? Just to see, just to feel, just to…

Taste?

Oh God, what if? How would it feel in his mouth, something that big? What would Grantaire’s reactions be? Enjolras could not admit to much experience in sucking cock.

He looked at his lap again. It could not be much different from hands, right? Just focus on the places that feel good?

No, that can’t be right. Besides, he would barely be able to get the top of Grantaire’s prick in his mouth if it really was as big as he imagined.

Was it as big as he imagined? What if he just licked it?

Enjolras found he could not think of the type of noises Grantaire would respond with. It should not have been that hard to fill in, and yet…

He needed something to work with if he really was going to fantasize about this. But why fantasize when he could have the source material to begin with?

Enjolras was out the door before he could let himself consider how incredibly stupid the decision was.

-

**DICKMAS**

-

Grantaire frowned at the sketch. It looked no better in the low light of the one lamp in his room than it did in the café.

He sighed and set it down on the little-used desk. It joined other drawings of the Amis in motion, laughing, singing, smiling. This one had been the incident where Bahorel had spilled wine all over a table and Combeferre, Feuilly, and Jehan had all lunged for the same spot to save the map spread out at the end.

He sat down on his bed and looked up when a knock sounded at his door.

“Wrong room,” he shouted. He did not get callers at this time of night, or really at all.

The door opened anyways. He should have locked it. Grantaire went to grab a weapon, sure whoever it was would be unwelcome, but stopped when he saw who it was.

“Enjolras?”

“Grantaire,” was Enjolras’s only greeting before tackling him on his bed.

“What the- holy shit, Enjolras!”

Enjolras unbuttoned Grantaire’s trousers with a speed that Grantaire fumbled to intercept. Enjolras pulled them down and thrust his hand in and grasped Grantaire’s cock.

“Whoa!” Grantaire grasped Enjolras’s wrists the same time Enjolras dipped his head to his prick.

Grantaire shoved him away which such force he ended up following, holding Enjolras down on the bed, hovering over him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he demanded, eyes darting over Enjolras’s face, looking for signs of intoxication or drug effects.

Enjolras grabbed him by the front of his shirt, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Thinking about what?”

Grantaire had not realized he was straddling Enjolras until Enjolras planted his feet and arched up to rub their groins together.

Grantaire let out a strangled noise, “Holy Jesus, you’re hard! Someone drugged you. Aphrodisiac or something. Go to a doctor.”

“I’m not drugged,” Enjolras snapped, “It’s your dick, I can’t stop thinking about it since I saw it at the pond.”

“ _What?_ Why wouldn’t you be able to stop thinking about my dick?”

Enjolras spread his legs abruptly, pushing Grantaire’s off balance and Grantaire fell on him. Grantaire tried to get up, in the process letting go of Enjolras.

Enjolras rolled them both over and took Grantaire’s cock in his hand again.

Grantaire hissed and pried off the fingers, “Stop that. We need to sort this out.”

“There’s nothing to sort out,” Enjolras addressed his words to Grantaire’s crotch.

“Yes there is,” Grantaire did not like how he was on his back for this with Enjolras just staring at his prick, but the other man seemed content to just look for now, so maybe they could still talk through this.

“No one just develops a sudden desire for a person’s dick.”

“It wasn’t sudden,” Enjolras replied, “It’s been more than a day.”

“You sound like Pontmercy right now, you know that? That tells me clearly something is wrong.”

“Can I touch it?”

“Now you ask for permission?”

“Good point,” Enjolras reached for him and Grantaire flailed and managed to squirm out from under Enjolras and off the bed.

He stood against the wall, “Stay there!”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire’s crotch. Grantaire was painfully aware he was getting aroused and he tried to tuck himself away.

“You like it,” Enjolras’s eyes were bright, “You want me.”

“No, shut up, stop talking. I’m the one who hasn’t lost his mind in this room.”

“I have not lost my mind.”

“You busted into my room to demand cock, Enjolras. I don’t think I could think of a better example of you losing your mind.”

“I cannot be the first person to be entranced by it.”

Grantaire put his hand over his face, “You actually just said that. I can’t believe you said that. It’s my cock, Enjolras!” he said exasperatedly, “not a magician’s hat! No! You’re going to make a bad pun, I know it, that’s what insane horny people do. I won’t let you.”

So Enjolras did not mention the magic Grantaire’s dick could likely make.

“How can I convince you I am serious?”

“I don’t know. Explain what made you think this was a good idea.”

“I wanted to fantasize about you but I didn’t know what sounds you made during sex.”

Grantaire felt himself grow warm, “I suppose I should have expected that kind of insane answer.”

“I am serious, Grantaire, can’t you just let me?”

“Let you make a mistake?”

Enjolras glared and that definitely looked like the Enjolras he knew.

“It would be no mistake. If you won’t let me touch it, can I at least look at it so I will stop wondering.”

“You got a good look just now,” Grantaire protested but went over to the bed anyways.

“Take it out,” Enjolras commanded and Grantaire did.

Enjolras wet his lips. Grantaire felt that was really unnecessary.

Then Enjolras put his hand in his own trousers.

“What are you doing?”

“Mm, what does it look like?”

“Are you masturbating to my dick?”

“You won’t let me touch _yours_ , so…” Enjolras used his other hand to open the front of his trousers.

“Really? You really think you can get off looking at limp dick?”

Enjolras let out a breathy sigh, “It doesn’t have to be limp.”

Well, it wasn’t anymore, now was it?

“Ple-hee,” Enjolras cut himself off to moan, “Please let me.”

Grantaire swallowed.

“If you regret this later, don’t blame me.”

“I won’t,” Enjolras replied and Grantaire sensed he was probably referring to the first part of his statement.

Enjolras put his hands out and gripped Grantaire’s hips. He lowered his mouth and brushed his lips across Grantaire’s cock, tracing his tongue up the side before taking the tip into his mouth.

Grantaire jerked in surprise and sputtered, “And you are certain?”

“Mmm,” Enjolras replied and Grantaire had fully expected him to take his mouth off of his prick before replying so really he was perfectly reasonable in his reaction of gasping.

Enjolras tried to stretch his mouth to take more between his lips and his fumbling made his tongue slide haphazardly over Grantaire’s cock.

“I’m not entirely sure I am awake,” Grantaire confided to the air. He felt Enjolras’s lips tug into a smile.

He pulled away and stoked Grantaire as he contemplated his plan of attack.

“It is so big,” he said.

“Yeah, that statement is not convincing me I’m not really passed out in an alley somewhere. Who says that?”

Enjolras moved his eyes to meet Grantaire’s.

“I cannot even fit my mouth around the top, so great is its size,” he said, his strokes increasing as he stared at Grantaire intently, “Would you like to hear what I have been thinking about? What drove me to the point of coming here in the middle of the night?”

Grantaire was not used to this kind of single-minded attention directed at him for longer than it took to fire off a rebuke, so his breath caught in his throat as Enjolras passed his thumb over the top of his cock and continued speaking.

“I wondered what it would feel like, to press it against me,” with that, Enjolras abruptly swung himself over Grantaire and straddled him. He lowered himself down and laid his body along Grantaire’s, his cock resting beside Grantaire’s.

“If I could even wrap my hand around us both.”

Enjolras reached down and demonstrated. His hand did, in fact, fail to encompass both of them, but he moved his hand in firm strokes nonetheless.

“I thought about it in my mouth.”

Enjolras braced his hands on the bed and grinded his hips against Grantaire, who let out a stuttering moan and thrust up to meet him. They rutted against each other and both began to pant.

“I wondered, mm! I wondered,” Enjolras sucked in a breath, “what it would feel like inside me.”

Grantaire moaned and took both their cocks in his hand.

“I, ah, I,” Enjolras thrust into Grantaire’s palm frantically, curling his hands in the sheets, “wanted to see it move when I fuck you.”

Enjolras groaned when he came and Grantaire followed after a few more furious strokes.

Enjolras sagged, his breaths echoing with Grantaire’s panting.

It took a few moments for them to realize what they had just done to Grantaire’s clothes.

Grantaire laughed, “Well, it was sacrificed for a worthy cause, I think.”

Enjolras let him up and Grantaire walked to the other side of the room, unbuttoning his waistcoat and taking off his soiled garments.

He figured Enjolras had already seen him naked, forgetting the outcome of that particular incident had led to this one, and turned around in search of clean clothes.

Enjolras was watching him like cat would an injured bird.

Grantaire’s eyes grew wide and he hurriedly backed up against the wall.

“Oh no, we just went, there is no way we are up for more.”

Enjolras licked his bottom lip.

“We could _try_.”

“Seriously, this obsession is getting out of hand-no, stop! You stay on that bed!”

“Relax, I just want to see something.”

Enjolras buttoned up his trousers and kneeled in front of Grantaire. He held Grantaire’s cock in one hand and pressed together the fingers of his other, apparently comparing sizes.

A fully-clothed, though thoroughly disheveled Enjolras kneeling before him while he stood there naked stirred a strange mix of wrongness and desire in Grantaire.

Finally, Enjolras stood.

“What was that?”

Enjolras smirked and held up his fingers bunched together in a close approximation of the size of the end of his cock.

“For practice,” he replied, licking his fingers lightly.

A blush flooded Grantaire’s face and Enjolras had already seen himself out by the time he could form coherent sentences.

-

**Cocks-ing Day**

-

The next day, Enjolras demanded to see the drawings he made. Grantaire insisted they were private.

Enjolras was persuasive.

By the time the meeting was over, Enjolras had managed to molest every one of his fingers with his mouth in some furtive way and Grantaire never had a good history with restraint.

Ultimately, he could deny Enjolras nothing. He showed him both the drawings and his enormous dick once more.

Enjolras had practiced a lot in the one day since last time.


End file.
